If You Love Me: Chapter 5

Roman looks like this is the last place on Earth he wants to be.

Can I blame him? After three years, I show up with no warning. And he clearly remembers not only what we did together, but also that I left with no explanation. Hindsight is a jerk. If I could have a do-over on how I handled my introduction as the new assistant coach, I would play it so differently. I should have swallowed my pride and reached out privately to let him know I was joining the team. It would have been awkward, but this is worse. I’d rather that than his anger. I thought my anxiety yesterday was bad. It has nothing on how I feel now. And I can’t believe I called him out on the ice, especially since he could still blow this all up for me.

But I couldn’t have him or anyone else come to my rescue. The only way to earn the team’s respect is to show them I don’t need saving. Especially not by their beloved goalie. This isn’t just a job, it’s where my heart is.

Roman taps agitatedly on the conference table. I try and fail not to notice the way the muscles in his forearm jump every time his long, thick fingers hit the wood. I know exactly how skilled those fingers are.

Stop thinking about sex with one of your players, Lexi.

That’s a sobering thought.

There’s a knock on the door, and Roman gets up to open it. Tristan Stiles and Dallas Bright glance around the room, assessing, before they take the seats across from us.

Dallas looks the part of the small-town, Ontario-raised player he is, complete with dark jeans and a short-sleeved, plaid button-down layered over a Tragically Hip T-shirt. Tristan is massive. Probably close to six and a half feet, broad shoulders, and dark blond hair that swoops in the front like it wants to do its own thing, which is basically his vibe.

“Where’s Madden?” I was under the impression he’d be joining us.

Tristan looks around the table. “He had a thing.”

I tap my pen agitatedly against my clipboard. “What kind of thing?”

“An appointment he couldn’t miss,” Tristan explains.

I hope that’s not a convenient excuse, but while we have them here we might as well see what we can learn. “Can either of you explain why Madden hates Grace so much?”

Dallas and Tristan exchange a look.

Roman rubs his bottom lip. He needs to stop drawing attention to himself and all the parts of his body that have made contact with the most sensitive parts of mine.

“What is that about?” I motion between Dallas and Tristan. “You obviously know something. Don’t you think it would be helpful for us to understand why these two can’t be in the same room without Madden trying to rip Grace’s head off?”

Vander Zee tips his chin in approval. Tristan runs his fingers through his hair. Dallas scrubs a hand over his mouth.

“I appreciate your loyalty to each other, but it’s not helping us manage the team.” Of the two, Dallas looks most likely to crack. “Bright, come on. Help us out.”

Tristan shakes his head. Dallas sighs.

“May I say something?” Roman asks.

I meet his gaze. Which is a bad idea. In an instant, my entire body is ready to go up in flames. When we were together, it was me asking for permission, not the other way around. I clear my throat, channel confidence I don’t feel, and am beyond thankful that my voice doesn’t crack. “Of course.”

He turns to Dallas and Tristan. “This is affecting the entire team. Everyone already knows Grace and Madden aren’t the best of friends. How will that impact the season if we can’t get them to play nice?”

“If we say something, he’ll know it was us.” Tristan laces his fingers. His hands are as massive as the rest of him.

“Well, that’s his fault for not dealing with his shit,” Roman says.

“He’s working on it. The guy’s in therapy. Like literally, right now, he’s with his therapist. Give him a break,” Tristan argues.

At least we know he’s not willfully skipping out on a meeting.

Dallas grips the arm of his chair.

These guys are tight. I’ve worked with teams where there’s dissension and posturing. They usually struggle as a unit. But the Terror really stand up for each other.

“So…” Dallas shakes his head. Looks at the ceiling. Sighs. “There was a rumor at the Hockey Academy. I can’t confirm it. I don’t know if anyone can, except maybe Grace. But good luck there.”

I sit up straighter. I’ve heard the rumors about Madden. Everyone has. He’s spent the past few years splashing his sexual exploits across the internet, apparently not caring how it reflects on him as a person or on his team. But that has changed over the past year, possibly because his sister is now dating Tristan, who from all reports is his best friend. Maybe therapy is part of it. “What kind of rumor?”

“There was a sandwich incident.” Dallas’ ears turn red.

“Dude.” Tristan shakes his head.

“This is over a sandwich?” Vander Zee’s disbelief is written all over his face.

“Look, I understand that you want to get to the bottom of this. But none of you thought to have a conversation with Flip or the rest of the team before you brought Grace on. And you did that knowing he and Flip don’t get along, and that Connor has a history of being a team problem. He and Bowman are good friends. He had an ally in New York, and he still couldn’t be a team player. Now you bring him here and expect us to solve the issue for you?” Tristan says.

“The plan was to speak to Madden directly, but he’s not here and you are,” I explain.

And Thomas doesn’t seem all that interested in approaching Madden. I’m the new girl, still trying to figure out my role and not step on toes in the process.

“We’re asking for some clarity,” Vander Zee replies.

“And we’re telling you there were rumors at the Hockey Academy. So now you know this rivalry goes back a long way. I don’t mean to be unhelpful, but if it comes from us, the divide only gets bigger. And I won’t be disloyal to my teammate over a decision I didn’t have a hand in making.” Tristan crosses his arms. “We can talk to Madden, but what you’re asking here is a line I can’t step over.”

“What he said,” Dallas agrees.

“I understand the importance of team loyalty and the difficult position you’re in,” I reassure them. “And we appreciate the insight.”

“I don’t like it, but I get where you boys are coming from,” Vander Zee agrees. “Hopefully we can get to the bottom of things before the official season starts.” He glances at his watch. “My youngest has a cello performance tonight, so we can reconvene tomorrow morning before practice and decide how to proceed.” He pushes his chair back, and we all stand.

“Sorry we couldn’t be more helpful,” Dallas says as we exit the conference room.

“We appreciate your candor,” Vander Zee replies. “Forrester, we’ll see you in the morning. Good work today.”

I don’t know how deserved that compliment is, but I’ll take it. “Thanks, Coach.”

As I skirt around the players, Roman opens his mouth to say something, but Tristan interjects. “We’re grabbing a bite to eat at the Watering Hole. It’s a local pub a couple of blocks down. It might be a good way to get to know some of the team. Flip will be there. And all the girls. You can meet my fiancée, Bea, and Hemi and Hammer are coming.”

“I heard my name.” Hemi pokes her head out of the door across the hall.

“And I heard mine.” Hammer appears behind her. “Hi, Dado.” She crosses over and wraps her arms around Roman’s waist.

All his tension seems to melt away with the affection. He squeezes her back. “Hey, kiddo.”

“What’s going on?” Hemi asks as Dallas moves toward her.

“Hi, honey.” He kisses her on the cheek. “Tristan was inviting Coach Forrester to the Watering Hole.”

“Oh yes! You have to come! They have the best nachos,” Hammer says.

Hemi arches a brow. “Time to cash in that rain check?”

I glance at Vander Zee. I don’t know what protocol is here. I want to connect with the team, but I don’t want to do anything that might not reflect well with upper management. He nods.

Which is good because it means I don’t have to say no to Hemi again. And Tristan is right. Getting to know the guys off the ice could help us get to the bottom of the Grace-Madden issue. And maybe I’ll be able to pull Roman aside and have the awkward discussion that’s hanging over our heads.

“Sure.” I force myself to smile. “I can come for nachos.”